


So. You Gonna Stay?

by Pastelrogue



Series: Bad Sun - Iron Bull/Lavellan Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelrogue/pseuds/Pastelrogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of drabbles about my Inquisitor and Iron Bull</p>
            </blockquote>





	So. You Gonna Stay?

**Author's Note:**

> Bull's thoughts on the Inquisitor as she enjoys a rare evening in the tavern.
> 
>  
> 
> This is the first thing I've written in five years or so, so I'm incredibly rusty. Be kind.

 

 

He can see her out of the corner of his eye, she's swaying on her stool as she laughs that laugh that could touch even the cruellest magisters heart. It's normally a fairly controlled snort, maybe not even that if Red is in the room. Red scares her, although she tries to hide the way she shies away from the spymaster and her birds. 

When she's been drinking, and boy has she been drinking, it's a throaty laugh, downright filthy, and she cackles with such joy that even the other patrons elsewhere in the tavern can't help at their beloved Inquisitor, so deep in her cups she's now holding onto Varric's  shoulder to remain seated.

Krem's looking over at him now, he's got that look about him that Bull's not sure if he likes. It's contemplative . It's quiet and it's remarkably shrewd for a man whose had as much to drink as he has. Bull shifts in his chair, still lazing as if he were the Arishok  himself, glancing over his men. But it's enough to betray his anxiousness. No one would dare strike out at her here, but even despite her growing following there are still a few who are sceptical of their knife-eared leader. There's a few in tonight who are looking over at her a little too often. The kind of men who question her right to lead a little too often. They're broken men, shells left behind from Blights and wars. No purpose, no drive. Just instinct. Broken men are dangerous men and they're eyeing her up a little too easily for his liking. 

It's late anyway, and it seems as though if Nym stays any longer she'll not only have to deal with her advisors chastisement the next morning, she'l l have to do it  hungover . As much as he likes Red, Josie and Cullen, they're not always the most understanding folk. Not like they're bad people at all, oh no.  They just have a way of forgetting that before she was their Inquisitor, she was a hunter, doing what she could for her clan. Sometimes she needed to kick back, enjoy a night with friends for what it was.

He decides to intervene,  why?  she's fine as she is,  and he saunters over.

Those damn elven eyes. So big and brimming with questions. She's got that look down, that one where she looks like she's seen more in her 22 years than most men see in 200. She has he guesses. Not many people come face to face with the first darkspawn  that tainted the world. 

She's smiling slowly up at him now, those tiny hands coming up to rest on his stomach. "Bull!  was wondering where you got to. Not like my drinking buddy to be drinking without me." 

She's pouting now, because she knows it'll make him snarl. She likes it when he does that but won't tell him why. She just blinks those big ole eyes and starts babbling about some old relic she read about or asks what he thinking about a new contraption she's been tinkering with. He feels himself shake his head and without further ado, picks her up from the stool and hoists her into his arms. She's so small she easily rests one his arm against his shoulder. She's got a hand wrapped around one of his horns and he will not think about how good it's feeling, he just keeps walking, ducking through the doorway to take her back to her chamber. Her leg is swaying against his stomach and she starts humming an old  Dalish  song, the words getting lost as the song dips too low for her voice. She laughs again and absently scratches the base of his horn. He's batting her hands away as they walk up the stairs to her room, his grip on her tightening as she leans heavily against him. 

Her room is surprisingly tidy for someone whose mind seems to run a mile a minute. Neatly piled papers cover her desk, but everything has it's place, he can see she's angled the quill just so as it lays atop Cullen's latest report. 

The bed is an expanse of silks and wool. He gently drops her down and fails  to hide a grin as she stretches out and begins to rub the cover against her cheek. He's always thought the bed was a little fancy for her taste. He'd always pegged her as one for the simpler things, but since coming to  Skyhold  she seems to be developing a taste for the classic lines and elegance oft found in Val Royeaux . 

"Never understood why you like this stuff so much boss. Not sure it's worth how much you paid for it."

"It's  Orlesian, Lethellan. Orlesian ." Her last word drifts on  as she grins and sits up to  begin  the slow process of drunkenly removing her clothing . Her hair is sticking up on the one side, and her braid is falling out, strands falling about her face as she beams up at him. 

"So. You  gonna  stay ?" She pats the bed beside her and scoots back to make room. He fits on just fine, they've tried before. It's only after a moment of pretending to consider her request that he relents and strips down, splaying out on the bed as she moves to curl around his arm. He shifts a little, dragging  her closer and bringing her flush to her side. She's already drifting off, mumbling nonsense to herself as he turns his head to extinguish the candle light. 


End file.
